


And In Fear, There Is Hope... Until There Is Not

by I_Wish_I_Was_Interesting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, The Cage, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Wish_I_Was_Interesting/pseuds/I_Wish_I_Was_Interesting
Summary: A rundown of Sam's life and the fear he consistently feels. A story from Sam's point of view and his struggles.





	And In Fear, There Is Hope... Until There Is Not

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, sooo this was written because I got a little drunk and got a little inspired. I've written, edited and posted this all in the same day so please don't judge it too hard.  
> I also wanted to try and do a Sam-centric story (because what else do I write?) but without saying his name, I'm not sure why, I just like that concept.
> 
> Also, everything Sam says, I do not believe. I wanted to enter the headspace of Sam and show what he may have been going through, but I love my boy and just want him to be happy (and have more screen time).
> 
> Plus I want to add, I'm working on a sequel to my last story but it's just taking a while, but that is in progress.
> 
> I own nothing but my mistakes.

_Wrapped in scolding chains,_  
_Confining me to my life._  
_How do you save someone from themselves?_  
_Empty._  
_So Empty._  
_Not broken or sad or angry,_  
_Just a dull light in a world of blazing flames._  
_There is nothing,_  
_That thought causes pain._  
_But only briefly and then it leaves,_  
_Then it’s back to empty._  
_I almost crave the pain,_  
_To feel anything is better than this._  
_I am broken._  
_And I am so empty._

* * *

 

It was the only motivation he knew; it was the essence of his life and his soul.

Fear.

He ran because he was scared. He stayed because he was scared. He won and he lost because of fear.

It was the unwelcome partner that followed him wherever he went. He saw it like a neon sign wherever he went but no one else could see it. Such fear.

It was as if something was clinging to his back and no matter how much he scraped and scrubbed and bled, it was always there. Such fear.

There was the initial fear of the life he’d lived and how he wanted to escape. The angry father, the conflicted brother and world he never felt a part of. The desperate need to escape fuelled him letting him push the fear aside, but not for long… not for long enough.

He ran to college and didn’t know what he expected. He knew what he'd hope for; he’d hoped the fear would leave. But as it was in the way of his world, it did not leave and instead it grew. It grew and blossomed like a flower… no, like a weed. An unwanted weed and an unwanted boy, together, the ultimate duo of paranoia and regret.

College brought fire and rage and pain. He lost the love of his life and ran off with his brother.

Again, he ran out of fear.

So scared to accept his corrupt reality and so scared to accept that this was it.

So many plans, but all of them lies. He said he’d go back to school, he said he’d get his life back but like the disappointment he was, they were all lies. Lies fuelled by fear.

His father died and he cried, but even that felt like a lie. Tears were shed for a father that never cared or loved him. Tears shed for a life he could never live. Tears shed for the lie that he wished everything could be okay.

His brother, full of rage and sorrow, lost to the world by the grief of the unknown. Left alone with no direction, except for the direction of death and pain.

“If you can't save your brother, you'll have to kill him,”

And his brother suffered, and he suffered and although they were together, they suffered apart.

And then he wasn’t himself anymore and there was something inside him. And that something voiced his desire, his desire that his brother would act on their father’s words.

“Kill me,” his mind screamed.

“Kill me,” the thing inside him voiced.

But death was yet to come.

No sweet relief for the wicked.

And then he found out why he felt so impure. The blood coursing through his veins was not just his own. There was something else in there something dark, something evil. And he feared it.

And then he died. And his soul cried out in joy.

And then he was resurrected and his soul cried out in pain.

His brother was destined for hell yet he was still more righteous than he’d ever be. He would do anything in his power to save him, what could possibly be the point otherwise.

But then Dean left, despite his struggles. His brother, his reason for living, for trying to survive, left and died and was torn to shreds by the monsters of the night, the things they’d been trained since children to kill.

So he cried and he wept and he felt something inside him die alongside his brother.

He clutched Dean’s corpse and wept into his shirt and when he lifted his face, he was covered in his brother’s blood. It was his fault… Dean was dead because of him. Blood stained and a little more broken then before, he stumbled into the unknown and he was scared.

The demon… Ruby… controlled and manipulated. She ruined and defaced who he was meant to be but he didn’t know that. He thought that this darkness was the truth; he thought the darkness was all he’d ever be.

She fed a craving he never knew he had and filled with blood and a false sense of security, he destroyed and he sought revenge.

And through all of this, through every waking moment, a partner was by his side. Oh, that fear never left, not really. It laughed and it destroyed. Such fear.

Dean returned and he hid his tears, for he feared he'd be seen as weak. Fear.

He continued to consume because it masked the fear, and then Dean found out and everything was just so much worse.

Angels were real. Angel were real and they hated him. That was okay though, he hated himself too.

The voicemail. The monster that he knew he was. The realisation that he could never be forgiven. He’d dug a hole so deep there was no getting out. It was now his grave and he would lay in it and he would pass and die and be forgotten to the world. But first, Lilith had to die.

And so she did but in her death, Lucifer arose. And he knew then and there that this would be his final mistake. How could anyone ever atone from releasing the devil? How could anyone fix that?

But despite the fear and pain and regret, he tried. And as he tried, people died. Good people, too many to name. Too many casualties in a war that should never have happened. A war that he had started. More regret and more fear.

Dean was the vessel of Michael. It made sense; he was bright and strong like a flame and like the heroic archangel. Who else would be worthy to house such holiness?

And then Lucifer visited his dreams and the broken world he’d created got so much worse. The vessel of Lucifer, the abomination. The only angel capable of loving him, the devil.

He came in the image of Jess, sweet Jess. She deserved better, but what she got was him, and he was plagued with death and destruction that spread like a virus to anyone and everyone he cared about.

He shot himself in the head. No apocalypse without the vessel of Lucifer. But the devil did not adhere to the plan and he was brought back with the memory of the bullet entering his skull.

The apocalypse raged on and he knew what he had to do. He knew it as soon as they found about the keys. He kept quiet though. His brother would feel obliged to object to the plan. That was okay, he knew what he had to do. The fear seemed to dimmer down just a little bit.

He said yes and tried to ignore how the fear was barely there, as he became nothing but skin and bones for the devil himself.

He had him; he pushed Lucifer far back into his mind and kept him there by sheer willpower. In the end, it wasn't the demon blood or the psychic powers, but instead, it was the sight of his brother who still cared. He felt something flutter in his chest. Was it a new feeling or had it just been that long since he’d felt anything like it? Hope. Hope. Hope. Oh, how hope counteracts fear. Not forever, not for good, but for long enough. For once, it was long enough.

And then he jumped and then he fell. Falling. Falling. Falling. Tumbling into darkness and into the icy cold grip of the angry devil.

And he was punished, and he was tortured in every sense of the word and that was okay. He knew he deserved this. This was okay. This was eternity. And it was okay.

He body was taken from him. But that was okay. He still was tortured by the devil who did not forgive. But still, that fear seemed to have gone away because if this was it, then that was okay.

“I deserve this.”

Then Death came in with an air of sadness, took his soul and shoved it back into an unwilling body.

The fear returned with the force of a hurricane. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. He should still be suffering in Hell where he belongs. He hid confusion and hallucinations with the simple words of “I’m fine,” and he tried to survive. He didn’t live anymore, how do you live when you don’t deserve life? So he just survived. He breathed and moved and lied and feared but he did not live. He had not lived for so long.

Death, destruction, and more war came about. The Leviathan were released. And they were gone along with his brother and the angel that hated him yet still helped him.

This wasn’t life. This wasn’t life. This wasn't life. This couldn’t be life. No. No. No.

Dean. Gone. Again.

His fault, always his fault.

Then came the softness that grief always brings. A hand to hold and to lie to, to say he was fine.

His brother was dead. Again.

He looked his gun every night and wondered if this was the night. But he looked at Amelia’s sleeping form and decided he’d do it the next night, no Lucifer to bring him back this time. No one to care. Fear kept him from being selfless and ending his life to stop the misery he brought to other people’s lives.

He looked at the gun each night until his brother came back.

He wasn’t dead. He was never dead. Just suffering. Dean was suffering and he did nothing to help him, to save him.

Failure. Screw Up. Wrong. Sinner. Evil. Abomination. What right did he have to live when he’d done such things to the people he loved? How he cried each night because of it. But he hid that, he didn’t deserve pity and fear kept him from atoning.

A chance for redemption. He knew he’d never be pure but this was the closest he’d ever get. The Trials. The Trials of Hell. Hell was such a familiar word, too reminiscent of home.

And as he nearly finished them, his brother begged him to stop. And so he did. Hadn’t he done enough to Dean? So he listened to him. And again, miraculously, or whatever the Hell equivalent of a miracle was, he survived again. Oh how that made him scared. How that brought such fear.

The angels fell and so did he. And when he awoke, he wasn’t him anymore, not really.

Another being shoved into his body. Well at this point it wasn’t his body anymore, was it? He forced it out and tried to forgive Dean, because hadn’t he done worse? But it seemed too far.

How he wished he had just died in that church.

The Mark of Cain brought destruction. His brother became a demon. But hadn’t he himself become so much worse? Who was he to judge?

The Mark was removed but not without cost. More death and pain and guilt that settled on his already heavy and tired heart. He feared that this was too much, that this was the end. Fear.

The Darkness. God’s sister. The literal opposite of God’s holy self yet Amara was still brighter than him. Because while she was Darkness he was a black hole, empty space that consumed and broke everything within sight.

He freed Lucifer again. What more was there to say? Fear. Fear. Fear.

God and Amara made up and he wondered if he and Dean could ever do that. Ever fix what was broken. He feared they couldn’t but not as much as he feared they could. What did he do to deserve redemption?

Tortured by humans. Their pricks and small bursts of heat were nothing compared to what he’d endured before. But he still suffered through and allowed himself to feel each blink of pain. He deserved this.

It was the most alive he’d felt in years.

Mary was brought back and he feared that they’d lose her again because if they did, then this time he’d remember it and he’d have to suffer through it. Selfish.

She hated him. That was okay, he didn’t expect anything else. He feared that his brother wouldn’t be able to deal with it.

Nephilim. A word that felt too holy to slide across his tainted tongue. A tongue that had swallowed blood and death. The child of Lucifer. He feared the child would turn out like Lucifer, cruel and cold.

The child was born and he was called Jack. Kelly deserved that much.

Cas died and his heart broke a little more. He looked at the pain his brother was in and wanted to fix it. But how do you fix something like this? You don’t. Not really.

Jack. He was nothing like his father; Jack was warm and kind, like his mother. He feared that Jack would be corrupted by him, he’d done so much wrong in his life, Jack deserved better than him. Everyone did.

The life he had was no blessing. He destroyed and ruined. But Cas was brought back because Jack was so much better.

He stopped crying, he had no more tears to shed. There was no hope in his fear anymore, no flower, no stem, not even a seed.

He lived but it felt like a job rather than a miracle.

He feared that he wouldn’t last much longer and he feared what that would do to his brother, the angel who had hated him, the mother who didn’t care and the child whose father had tortured him for longer than he’d been on Earth.

His life was fear and fear was his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, you made it to the end? Thanks! I hope you enjoyed or something. <3
> 
> tumblr- iwishiwasinteresting


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